Five Finger Discount

“No . . . No. . . No. . .” A woman said dismissing each option she was presented with. She sat behind a desk in her home office flipping through files her friend had presented her. “I don’t want someone who is going to fail,” She said in a stern voice, “All of these men will undoubtedly fail at one point or another. I need someone who is . . . reliable and fail proof.” Mr. Andrews shifted his weight from one foot to another at her words. The woman’s pure blue eyes flickered to this action as she tossed the files on her desk walking over to him.

She walked slowly running her fingers through her nearly midnight black hair as her heels clicked on the tiles. “You already knew that I wouldn’t approve of the men you brought for me to look at,” She said making it clear that this wasn’t a question. “Why would I do that?” He said amusement in his voice. “Why indeed?” She asked smiling at him. Just then her cell phone rang cutting through the air around them. Sighing deeply the woman glanced to her desk where her phone lay.

“You have someone perfect in mind for me,” She said in a knowing voice walking away from him. “Please have them meet me at the art gallery fundraiser tomorrow night. I’ll be wearing a blue dress with a silver clutch,” She instructed as she flipped open her cell phone dismissing her friend until another time. This meeting was all business, next she’d make sure their meeting was a little less formal.

-----

Constance Marino walked confidently around the gallery admiring the art along the walls. She was wearing a full length off the shoulder dress that flowed just past her heels. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders in soft curls though her diamond earrings sparkled through the strands. Taking her phone out of her clutch she checked the time knowing it was still early. Only 9 o’clock. Sighing she replaced it and continued walking pausing at Georgia O-Keeffe’s painting entitled The Lake.

This event would hold a small test for whoever would be meeting her here. She trusted Andrew’s judgment. They’d been friends for a long time so Constance knew he wouldn’t disappoint her. However waiting was never her specialty. She nodded and smiled sweetly at the waiter who was offering champagne.

Taking a sip from the elongated glass she looked around the room. This event was high end to say the least. It was one of those stuffy affairs in Constance’s opinion. Invitation only, formal wear mandatory, champagne and caviar. It was boring in other words though she had an obligation as a contributor to show her face and play nicely. Sighing deeply she looked back at the painting a polite expression on her face.

I do both. If it's a plot I came up with, I like having most of the control of the story. If it's someone else's brain-child, then I let them take things where they want them to go. In either case, I do take suggestions on plot ideas and I'm more-than-willing to spout off the things my muses churn out for future plot points.

The message with the meeting place and time were sent to the correct phone, and the owner of that phone sighed inwardly at the sight of it. An art gallery as their meeting place? There would be other people around. Plenty of other people. Rich people. None that would recognize him, thankfully, since he usually wore a mask whenever he met with clients or stole from someone. He much preferred to keep himself fully anonymous. He sometimes didn't speak at all during such meetings, though unfortunately he'd have to alter his usual routine for this new client. Anyone else in such a position might have just refused the work, but this thief needed the money. Desperately.

Acquiring the necessary attire for such a high-end event was not difficult. Though stealing from clothing stores was quite a bit beneath him, he did what he had to do to ensure his appearance would be acceptable. If he wore his usual style of clothing to such an event, he'd stick out like a sore thumb. Well, perhaps not that sore of a thumb, but he certainly wouldn't belong there. And if someone didn't think he belonged, things would get awkward. Lists would be checked, security would be called, etc, etc. More of a bother than the thief known simply by the alias "Ghost" cared to deal with for a new client.

It was evening now, the time of their meeting rapidly approaching. Ghost wasn't entirely familiar with the layout of the gallery, but he'd manage. The cameras were simple enough to spot and avoid. The people were a little trickier. The security detail checking names at the door were, however, delightfully easy to get around. He took an unconventional entrance, walking in right through a wall to bypass their checks. Once inside, everyone assumed everyone else belonged there. No one asked him any questions, and he didn't expect them to. There was something to be said for the acting skills of a thief-for-hire like him.

His search for the new client went slowly. One couldn't rush such things. No, instead he just took his time, meandering around the place as though he happened to be there to admire the gallery. And in point of fact, he was admiring it. Ghost did have an appreciation for art. He was regretfully pathetic at making his own--forgeries were not his forte--but he did admire the time, effort, and talent involved in creating such masterpieces. How could he not, when he made a living off stealing that art?

He spotted a woman who fit the description he'd been given, and he casually made his way over to her under the pretense of being interested in the painting. It made him feel uncomfortable to actually show his face to a client, so he kept in profile as he stood beside her. He folded his hands behind his back, shifting his weight somewhat as he just looked straight ahead at the painting with his sea-green eyes. He probably should have slicked his hair back, seeing as his black bangs were hanging down in front of his eyes somewhat. His hair in general was a little on the long side. Not long enough to be tied back, but long enough for a picky mother to say he needed a trim. The black of the suit and the green tie he'd put on fit him well, hugging his slim body. He wasn't tall--perhaps even below the average height for someone his age--but his underweight frame seemed to visually add an inch or two that an actual measurement would take away. He looked to be in his early twenties, if even that. His age was his main concern, in fact, when it came to sneaking in here tonight. Thus far it hadn't been a problem--the fancy suit thankfully did make him seem just a little older--but close inspection implied otherwise.

"Seems like this fundraiser is going well," he remarked to the woman softly, intentionally keeping his voice low. "I wonder, though, if you're here for more than just the art..." Someone who was not the client he sought would likely take that as some kind of pick-up line. The client, though, would hopefully read into his remark and realize who he was. If she was smart.

With a sigh Constance was about to move onto another painting when she felt a presence step beside her. She kept her appearance relaxed but inside she was buzzing with excitement. Could he be the thief? She didn’t dare look in case she’d have to make small talk with another boring stiff that was only here for appearance. She gave a polite nod the man’s direction as he commented on the fundraiser doing well and lifted her glass to her glossy lips before she would comment and politely excuse herself. She was not here to meet and greet art admirers or other financers like she. Constance only had one thing on her mind and that was to acquire a thief.

However as she took a sip a real smile slipped onto her plump lips as he wondered if she was there for more than the artwork on the walls. “I’m here for only two reasons and neither of them are to admire pieces of art that I’ve seen dozens of times,” she responded softly turner her head with a slight tilt to the side taking in his appearance. His hair reminded her of a skater boy or beach bum and she could easily picture him in the proper attire for both. The suit he wore, while well fitting didn’t seem to exactly suit him. His bangs hung in his eyes just enough for Constance to not be able to see them fully though she could admire the sea green coloring there as she took in his appearance with her crystal blue ones.

Upon a closer inspection of his face she knew he was younger than he’d originally looked. She studied his face for a few minutes keeping her expression void of any hint of approval or dismissal. Taking another sip of her champagne she told herself that Andrew knew what he was doing. He would not risk her or him getting involved with someone who would fail. They were both too very well known figures in the art scene to get caught up in any scandalous and illegal behavior. “I’m pleased you made it in,” Constance said as the waiter came to her side to offer them champagne. She put her nearly empty glass on the platter he balanced and took another looking to see if the thief would accept one as well.

When the waiter left having fulfilled his obligation as drink bearer he left. “Walk with me please if you don’t mind,” Constance told him though he didn’t really have a choice in the matter because she was already walking slowly onto the next painting her dress and graceful foot falls giving her the appearance of someone walking on water as her reflection in the gleaming tiles mimicked her actions. Standing in one place too long would give the impression that something important was being discussed. Wealthy people with too much free time and not enough supervision would hover in on them like vultures trying to grasp a bit of gossip to spread through the community.

“My name is Constance Marino. I don’t mind what you call me as long as it’s not rude or Mrs. Marino,” she told him giving him a small smile once he was beside her again as she stopped in front of another painting. “What may I call you?” She inquired though knowing she probably wouldn’t get his real name. He had no reason to give it to her though she gave her own. One look on the gallery’s home page and he would surely find who she was being the first on the list. She’d tried several times to take her name and fact page off of the internet site however each time she’d stopped herself from making the quick phone call. Her family had been supporters for generations. All the way back to the galleries original opening in 1925. It had grown on her family’s money, been remodeled, and security increased. She was not as involved with the things that happened with her money after she wrote the check each month as her mother had been however keeping her name on the site’s page was done simply as a sign of respect to her late mother. Nothing more or less went into the decision.

“Are you uncomfortable?” She asked looking to gaze at the painting in front of them but not really seeing it. Her only focus was on the man beside her. All of her senses focused on him trying to pick up little droplets of facts he unknowing would give her.

I do both. If it's a plot I came up with, I like having most of the control of the story. If it's someone else's brain-child, then I let them take things where they want them to go. In either case, I do take suggestions on plot ideas and I'm more-than-willing to spout off the things my muses churn out for future plot points.

Ghost took a glass of champagne from the waiter, but only to continue the act of pretending to belong here. He was trying to seem as comfortable and at-ease as possible. Someone feeling guilty probably wouldn't take advantage of the available refreshments. Or if they did, they'd drink them too quickly out of nervousness. The young thief did no such thing. He took a sip, then seemed perfectly content to just hold the glass for a while. He'd finish it later.

He was glad to have found his client. If he'd mistakenly spoken to someone else, it would mean his search needed to continue. Now he could truly relax and just go with the flow, allowing the client to lead the conversation for now. She was the one who belonged here, not him. She wouldn't steer him in the wrong direction. Not unless she wanted to risk him betraying her. Which would be totally unprofessional, but Ghost did have to have some cards up his sleeve in case a client tried to stab him in the back. Metaphorically, of course.

"You may call me Ghost," he answered her. He thought it was a little too personal to call her by her first name, but if she didn't want to be called Mrs. Marino, he didn't have much of a choice. He'd just have to suck it up and deal with it. "And yes, I am a bit uncomfortable. This isn't typically how I meet with my clients." But obviously he was flexible, since he had come here tonight. He was willing to break pattern for her. How special.

“Ghost,” Constance repeated what he told her to call him softly. Smiling she nodded and said, “It’s fitting for the jobs I have in mind.” If she was going to have him stealing artworks for her she’d want him to be as seemingly unseen as a ghost. He admitted that he was a bit uncomfortable and that the manner she’d requested a meeting in wasn’t how he usually met his client. He was honest which went a long way in Constance’s book. She valued the truth above all else having spent most of her childhood being lied to constantly by everyone around her.

Taking a deep breath she pushed thoughts of her past away from her mind and focused on Ghost again. “It is unconventional isn’t it?” She questioned with humor lacing her voice as she started to walk to another painting leading Ghost. “I have an obligation to be here but it doesn’t mean I’m comfortable either,” She told him stopping at another painting. “If we were to meet in public it would have been too easy to be followed for me and if I asked you to come to my house I doubt you would have felt comfortable with me having the upper hand,” Constance explained to him her decision to ask him to meet her here.

“This way we are uncomfortable together,” she told him with a bright smile. Just then she tensed feeling a hand being placed against the small of her back as a man appeared beside her. “Harold,” Constance said giving the man a polite smile. He was handsome, with a strong jaw and chestnut colored hair and eyes. He didn’t even glance at Ghost his eyes focused on Constance. “You look stunning,” He said leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Thank you. How is business?” She asked though she didn’t really care.

This world of the rich was not just about what was in your bank account. It was about connections and appearances as well. Politeness and chit chat were necessities when it came to surviving amongst the wolves in waiting. “Great. I was just named President last month when father retired,” He boasted and puffed out his chest proudly, “The youngest since the beginning though I don’t want to brag.” “Of course not Harold,” Constance agreed with a laugh, “That’s never been your style.”

He laughed along with her clearly not realizing that she was being sarcastic. “I was wondering if you’d like to see the art with me while we catch up?” He asked hopefully his eyes shinning as he stared down at Constance. “I’m sorry Harold but we’ll have to speak another time. I’m already taken for the evening,” she said placing a hand on the inside of Ghost’s upper arm and began to walk away so Harold wouldn’t get a good look at the other man. “However give me a call and we can do lunch,” She said making the final turn from him giving Harold some hope so he wouldn’t get his feelings hurt.

“You’re good for keeping me unattainable for tonight as well,” She told him with a smile, “A shallow reason but an honest one none the least.” Once Harold was out of site she let her hand slip from Ghost as they stopped in front of another painting. “How many unsuccessful attempts have you had and in the end did you acquire what was wanted?” She asked him meeting his gaze.

I do both. If it's a plot I came up with, I like having most of the control of the story. If it's someone else's brain-child, then I let them take things where they want them to go. In either case, I do take suggestions on plot ideas and I'm more-than-willing to spout off the things my muses churn out for future plot points.

Ghost kept quiet, sipping at his champagne while Constance spoke with the young man who came over to speak with her. Their conversation didn't much interest him, so he let his eyes and mind wander somewhat. One of the nearby paintings caught his attention, so he paid it a fair bit of attention until Constance touched his arm and pulled him away.

He gave a small shrug at her comment. It was true that having him around could easily save her from having to be around the other young men of the fundraiser. He was fine with being used in such a manner, so long as no one paid too much attention to him.

The question Constance posed made Ghost smile slightly. "I haven't failed," he said, completely honestly. When someone had abilities like his, they didn't fail to steal something. Walls couldn't stop him. Even the thickest safe couldn't keep him out. Of course, all of this success meant that Ghost was due for a fall. No one was perfect, and Ghost knew this. He wasn't so arrogant as to think himself untouchable. He'd had enough close calls to give him pause when faced with a very difficult job.

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